It's a clever, sensitive record.

One moment--the Jason Molina tribute “JM”--is startling enough to forgive the clunking stadium-grunge workouts that seem, conversely, to be bringing Strand of Oaks to wider attention.

King Lear probably sounded like this after a couple of days on the heath.

Blunderbuss does, at times approach his finest work. But it doesn't do anything he hasn't already done.

A welcome addition to the Beastie canon, and if it gets them back out on the road, it'll be an absolutely precious one.

This is one of the most exhilarating albums of the year.

This is an album that's ostentatiously overloaded on melody, and on all-round sonic luxury. This is the one.

An album which should win prizes (but won't), and hearts (and will).

The weird, aquatic-sounding requiems are getting better all the time.

Delicious.

Fear Fun is the kind of album that can name-check Sartre, Heidegger and Neil Young in the same song.

It’s business as usual, only with a lusher production than expected and a tad too much emphasis on Western rock’s tired tropes in some of the licks.

The Manics’ band identity proves robust enough to withstand the tweaking.

It may not be the best Wilco album ever, but with care and consideration it may well turn out to be your favourite.

The vibe is convivial. And though the great man can't put his cancer-strangled voice to every number, he can still swing the nuts off a Slingerland kit in between chesting a nifty mandolin.

Bar that electric guitar, this is the kind of music that you wouldn’t be surprised to hear on an old piece of 78rpm vinyl rescued from a car-boot sale (which is, of course, meant as a compliment).

Expect more straightforward, big-vocal, soul-funk numbers, and fewer immediate hits. But compared with most R&B records, Monae is still lightyears ahead.

The band return to the slow-and-low, sinister alt-boogie that made their name, with Homme's satisfying dirty badass guitar sound in full effect.

Commendably, the Bury band's fifth album doesn't see them chasing the mainstream or pandering to the ear of the daytime radio dilettante.

Watson packaged up the month that he spent riding the train, using his original recordings, adding his own narration, throwing in some interviews, and creating something magical.

The overall theme is utopia defiled. Until, that is, Deacon – ever the optimist – brings it all together on "Manifest", the big rapturous finale.

In every sense, Theatre Is Evil sounds like a million dollars.

It's that rare thing: an album that will reward repeated listening by drip-feeding you its secrets.

We get grooves as smooth and tight as Lycra, funky stabs of brass and arch lyrics delivered with cool detachment.

Words and Music, the first full studio album in an aeon from Sarah Cracknell, Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs, is a masterclass of pop theory and practice in perfect harmony.

The occasional familiar, Carpenters-esque track aside, it makes for an exhilarating musical progression--even as his lyrical style remains unchanged.

Charges of over-solemnity may be levelled its way, but only occasionally are the melodic and narrative threads lost to a focus on miasmic, brush-stroked atmospherics.

A potent shot in the arm for Afrobeat.